Journal Pages for Cuatro de Mayo
I’d like to dedicate today’s journal pages to all the other socially retarded, borderline mute, lone wolves out there who are perfectly comfortable with not joining a pack tonight. These pages are sponsored by the gal at the tobacco shop who gifted me a fabulous wooden cigar box (with a little paint, paper, and glue it’ll make a handsome vessel to display the lil’ artworks I’m selling), my cute neighbor who said she liked my smorkin’ labit decal, and this evening’s sunset at the fishing pier.
Man, my journal is starting to bulge. No, it’s not excited. It’s from all the stuff I’ve been adding to it. I might have to put it on a diet (rip out some blank pages). If I don’t, the spine will explode. I really should do it before I start working on them, but I’m incapable of thinking more than five minutes ahead. This always happens when a journal is about half full… or half empty—since I’m filling it, half full makes more sense and the same applies to glasses.
You may have noticed that I’m on page 45 of this journal, yet I’ve only posted 26 pages. I don’t post all pages because some of them are crap, unfinished, or classified.
For the past three nights, I’ve been trying to watch Waiting for Godot. I keep falling asleep. It’s not that it’s boring. I really like it. I think it’s because it’s the only part of the day where I come close to not thinking (worrying, obsessing) and can relax.
Except for a few shows, like The Simpsons, and the occasional bout of insomnia induced channel surfing, I don’t watch TV. I found that I don’t remember my dreams if I watch a lot. I need to remember them because that’s where most of my ideas come from. (I once had a dream that my dream self sued my awake self for plagiarism.) I don’t watch many movies these days either because I’m trying to save money so I don’t rent them, I’ve watched the ones I own far too many times, and the pickings at the library are slim.
Tonight, my mission is to finish Waiting for Godot.
ESTRAGON: Wait! (He moves away from Vladimir.) I sometimes wonder if we wouldn’t have been better off alone, each one for himself. (He crosses the stage and sits down on the mound.) We weren’t made for the same road.
VLADIMIR: (without anger). It’s not certain.
ESTRAGON: No, nothing is certain.
Vladimir slowly crosses the stage and sits down beside Estragon.
VLADIMIR: We can still part, if you think it would be better.
ESTRAGON: It’s not worthwhile now.
Silence.
VLADIMIR: No, it’s not worthwhile now.
Silence.
ESTRAGON: Well, shall we go?
VLADIMIR: Yes, let’s go.
They do not move.